


There Isn’t a Word for What We’ve Got

by mutuisanimis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Character Study, Community: rs_games, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Pining, Queerplatonic Relationships, R/S Games 2016, Relationship Negotiation, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8206804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutuisanimis/pseuds/mutuisanimis
Summary: R/S Games 2016 - Day 4 - Team TimeFive people who misunderstood Sirius’ relationship with Remus and one two who didn’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Team:** Time  
>  **Title:** There Isn’t a Word for What We’ve Got  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Pining, self-reflection, self-discovery, relationship negotiation, slight anxiety, an abundance of half-finished thoughts  
>  **Genre:** Character study, Angst, Fluff, Friendship  
>  **Word Count:** 7300  
>  **Summary:** Five people who misunderstood Sirius’ relationship with Remus and ~~one~~ two who didn’t.  
>  **Notes:** Thanks as ever to the mods for their hard work and patience. Thanks to my teammates for help and encouragement when I was in a pickle, and to my friends on Team Place who encouraged me, too ;) Thanks also to J and K for the plot-bouncing and betaing and cheerleading, and to everyone else who listened to me as I pulled this story together.  
>  Title comes from chapter 11 of _Wizards At War_ , by Diane Duane, wherein one can find my other favorite (headcanon) QP relationship!  
>  **Prompt:** #46 - "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." - T.S. Eliot
> 
>  **ETA:** ~~hits/kudos on this have suddenly (March 2017) spiked and I'm so curious why?? if you saw this on a rec list or something, would you say something in a comment? I'd love to know where you're all coming from!~~ Apparently this fic made an [ace rec list](http://tinyletter.com/elizabethandgav/letters/the-rec-center-63), and I'm so flattered!! #^_^# If you are looking for more ace-focused fic and didn't come from tinyletter already, go check it out! ~mutuisanimis  
>  **ETA 2:** [Amfiboliya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amfiboliya/pseuds/Amfiboliya) has translated this fic into Russian!! Check it out [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5870991)!

Sirius Black first met Remus Lupin sitting in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express. James Potter was sitting across from them. Well, “sitting” might be generous. He was slid halfway to the floor, snoring slightly, glasses askew on his nose.

“He was so dead set that he would be the greatest quidditch player Hogwarts has ever seen,” Remus told Sirius, gesturing at the sleeping boy. “Do you think with that grace they’ll take him in his first year?”

Sirius laughed. He liked James, but it seemed that he and Remus would get along just fine, as well.

====

The hospital wing is a strange place, Sirius thinks from his seat beside Remus’ bed. All the white blankets, and the white curtains pulled shut around the beds but open across the windows to let the sunlight stream in—it makes the place feel happy in a way noticeably at odds with the circumstances that usually land you in there for anything longer than routine headache potions. (Like that one time when he, er, _borrowed_ a salamander from care of magical creatures to try to improve a set of fireworks, and it—well, backfired.)

Sheets rustle as Remus turns over in his sleep, still curled in on himself, but facing toward Sirius now instead of away. He hasn’t woken up the whole time Sirius has been here, but that’s okay. There’s a nasty-looking gash running from the outside of one eye across his cheek and his nose, and he’s told them all before that scratches like those are never the worst part.

The worst part, he always says (well, “always”—Remus doesn’t complain, really, but when he does…), the worst part is not having the strength to lift his arms enough even to change his shirt. (Someday—soon, Sirius hopes—they’ll be able to go with him and keep him from taking so much out on himself.)

So it’s okay that he’s not awake, because he needs to rest and let his strength return. Sirius has been making reasonable progress on his potions essay in the meantime, anyway. It’s just—nice, to be doing that here, for when Remus does wake up.

The privacy curtain surrounding Remus’ bed whips open, then shuts again instantaneously as Madame Pomfrey sweeps in, wand in hand, ready to check Remus’ vitals. Sirius jumps. Remus doesn’t move a muscle.

“Mr. Black,” Madame Pomfrey says, heavily but not unkindly, “you need to go. I hadn’t realized you were here. Afternoon lessons began ten minutes ago. You did eat something before you came, yes?”

Sirius sighs quietly and stows his things in his bag.

“Yes, ma’am,” he assures her. The last (and only) time Sirius had skipped lunch entirely to come up here, she’d given him a scolding the likes of which might have made his mother blush, had she ever been willing to give someone outside their inbred family tree the time of day.

“Go on, then.” She lowers her wand, apparently content with Remus’ readings, and waves her other hand at Sirius to shoo him off. Then she says, “Wait,” and flicks her wand to produce a signed note, excusing him for his tardiness. She hands it to him and waves him off again.

He pockets the note. “Thank you, ma’am.”

It’s foolish not to stay on the good side of the person in charge of maintaining your health, but beyond that, Sirius really does respect her work and appreciate the care she takes of Remus. As much as he’d like to make his case to stay here instead of going to charms, he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome with her.

“You’re a good friend, Mr. Black,” she tells him as he slips out through the curtain.

He pretends not to hear her, unable to respond to that statement. She says it whenever he comes to visit Remus, and though he knows she means it as a compliment, it feels more like a bludger to the gut with each passing month.

==== 

O.W.L.s are over, and the sun is warm on Sirius’ face as he lays out by the lake, revelling in his last day of freedom. Remus is at some year-end prefects’ meeting, and James went to beg some snacks off the house elves despite lunch having been only an hour ago. Sirius can’t be arsed to move from his spot on the grass, and Peter has gone all small and rodent-like, huddled up napping in the center of Sirius’ chest.

(Sirius could never get away with lying around outside as Padfoot midday, but Wormtail is so small, and plenty of students have rats around. Sirius envies Peter, just now, the quiet Wormtail’s mind must provide.)

Between one rat squeak and the next, Sirius must drift off, too, because the next thing he knows, Peter is shaking his shoulder with a human hand and telling him to wake up.

“Look,” he says, “James brought those pasties you like, and some lemonade. He left almost right away, again—something McGoogles asked him about for…quidditch? But with transfiguration? He wasn’t terribly clear. Anyway—I’m awake, and bored, so you should be awake with me. Go on, eat something,” he adds, shoving a pasty into Sirius’ hands and looking a touch worried.

The pasty is good, and there’s no use turning away food James took the trouble to get. Or any food. Sirius chases it down with some lemonade, and when he lowers his head again, Peter is watching him, all too speculatively.

“What, then?” Sirius asks, one eyebrow crooked in the air. (Not really. If there was one eyebrow up, there were two. But Sirius would never admit it.)

“What’s got a bee in your bonnet, Pads?” says Peter. “Or is it just fleas? You haven’t looked properly happy in ages.”

_There’s a reason for that,_ Sirius thinks. He shrugs and takes another swig of lemonade. It burns cold and acidic down his throat, and when he opens his mouth after to reply to Peter, the words don’t come.

“I don’t—” he says at last, laying back down and staring up at the sky. “I don’t want to go home. This summer, I mean. Winter hols were terrible, and I’m no more interested now than I was then in doing everything expected of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” He finishes with a sneer and a sigh. Peter hums a small sound of understanding, and now that Sirius has finally started talking, the words keep coming.

“And I could probably handle it if I weren’t alone, but—I love Regulus, I do, mostly, but we’re not so alike, and he would rather be reading and ignoring me most of the time—so the thing is…I’m going to miss you lot.”

“We’ll write, of course!” says Peter. “We always do.” Which is brilliant, certainly, but it doesn’t come close to the problem Sirius is having.

“Of course, Pete. Thanks. But that’s…different?” And it _is_ different, but it’s hard to put his finger on why.

“Aw, Pads, I know. Your room must feel so empty there, with no roommates, yeah?”

Yeah, there it is. Sirius nods. “Yup.”

“I don’t think loaning you my cousins would help, and I doubt your parents would appreciate it—”

“—I doubt your _cousins_ would appreciate it, Pete,” Sirius cuts in.

“Well, yes. There’s that, too,” Peter allows. “But if I can get away for a couple hours here and there, I’d be happy to floo over somewhere nearby and Wormtail could sneak up to your room.”

“Well, there’s a thought,” Sirius agrees. “Yeah, thanks, Pete. We’ll have to figure out how to do that, because it would be brilliant.”

A cloud that looks sort of like an hourglass floats slowly across the patch of sky above Sirius’ face. Sirius rolls over and grabs another pasty.

“And you know,” Peter continues as Sirius positions himself on his stomach and elbows, lest he choke while trying to lie on his back, “Prongs might not be as sneaky, but he will do anything you need. I bet if _you_ can get out of the house at any point, he’d go to a Wimbourne game or two with you. Plus his mum is constantly telling him to have us over, yeah? Maybe you can get over to his place for dinner once in a while, if you’re not under house arrest.”

This is why it’s good Peter got Sirius to say something, because Pete’s right, and Sirius has been too caught up in his own mind to remember that he’s part of the goddamn _Marauders_ and they’ll devise a way to get past _anything_.

“Yeah, thanks, Pete. You’re right.”

From the other side of the pile of pasties, Peter kicks him in the shin. “Of course I’m right. I’m here for whatever, James needs company near about as much as you do—and will do near about anything to make it happen so that he doesn’t get stuck taking care of his dad’s garden gnomes himself—and at this point I don’t think there’s anything that will stop you being Remus’ best friend. He’ll probably owl you whatever shitty books turn up at his dad’s shop and make you start a long-distance book club with him.”

Peter laughs at this idea, and Sirius cracks a smile, too, but something pinches in his chest. He hasn’t ever thought Remus was his best friend, and so it didn’t occur to him, either, that he could be _Remus’_ best friend. And then there’s Pete, just saying that, so casually, like he’s not anyone’s best anything and like that’s okay.

“Pete—” Sirius starts, but he doesn’t know how to continue.

Peter kicks him again, gently. “Don’t worry about it, Pads.” Don’t worry about _what_? What does Peter think Sirius is worried about? There are a lot of options.

Sirius settles on, “Thanks. You’re the best, Pete.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Then they lie there in a companionable silence, and after a few minutes there’s a small, quiet _pop_ and a rat crawling into Sirius’ hands, nosing at his fingers and rolling around looking adorable. Sirius smiles again and pets Wormtail absently.

The way Pete had said with such conviction, _at this point I don’t think there’s anything that will stop you being Remus’ best friend_ , like maybe once that could have happened, but now it’s impossible—Sirius doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve that. Frankly, given the whole…incident…with Snape a few months ago, Sirius can only think about how he _doesn’t_ deserve that. Well, and he can think about hollow he’d felt. It was—fuck, man.

If Sirius had betrayed James that way, would it have felt like that? He could argue that he never would, but he hadn’t thought he would do it to Remus, either. He hadn’t _meant_ to. And James is his best friend, of course, but the weeks and weeks until Remus had allowed Sirius back into his life beyond sleeping in the same room—those were something else.

Maybe that’s part of it, too, part of what’s got Sirius so worked up. Remus will start some weird book club, sure, and owl him ridiculous stories about the customers who turn up in his dad’s shop, but it’s only been a couple weeks since Sirius stopped feeling slightly surprised every time Remus initiated a conversation or let Sirius hug him or something. Writing isn’t the same. What if they lose ground over the summer?

Wormtail edges out from between Sirius’ hands and crawls up the sleeve of his robe to nose at Sirius’ ear, as if he knows that Sirius is letting his thoughts spiral away. Sirius shivers because it tickles, and says, “Worms, you can get up on top of my head, or you can get back down in my hands.” Wormtail comes back to his hands.

If Sirius is Remus’ best friend, then there should be nothing to worry about in terms of losing ground, but Sirius knows he’s fucked up already, and they _have_ lost ground and regained it, and—

This is something different, and Sirius doesn’t know what.

==== 

The sun has been playing peek-a-boo behind scattered puffy clouds all day, and now, as it slips down toward the horizon, the Marauders are eating a most delicious risotto thing at a table out back of Remus’ parents’ cottage. This, Sirius thinks, is how summer is supposed to be. Too bad it’s their last one, really. After seventh year, they won’t have empty summer holidays anymore, and hell if Sirius knows what they’ll be doing with themselves by then, anyway.

But that’s not a problem for right now. Right now he intends to make the most of what remains of this summer and also enjoy the pudding Mrs. Lupin is about to dish up.

When the pudding is gone and they’re all more than sufficiently full, Sirius stands and begins to clear the dishes from the table. It’s his turn, and the longer they’ve all been here, the more natural it is to step up like he’s part the family, like they’re all some family, and do his part of things. James, Remus, and Peter head off down to the back of the garden, where they’ve got a muggle football to kick around, telling Sirius to join them as soon as possible so that James and Peter can continue kicking Remus and Sirius’ arses at two-on-two.

Mr. Lupin collects the serving dishes and follows Sirius into the kitchen, covering each one and placing them in the refrigerator (magically powered, but still what the Lupins call it), then casting a dishwashing charm over the sink, so that all Sirius has to do is set the plates in the basin and come back in an hour to put them away. (Mrs. Lupin insists that drying charms leave a residue, so they let things air dry. Who is Sirius to argue?)

Sirius retrieves another load of plates and cups from the table and deposits them in the sink, then takes the pans off the stove and sets them to be washed as well. Mr. Lupin is still there, tidying up a newspaper that’s been strewn all across the table.

“Son,” he says, before Sirius can get back out the door to go play football. Sirius turns. As much as it does feel like a real little family here, and a warmer one than the one Sirius finally left earlier this summer, he’s still not accustomed to being addressed so affectionately.

“Yes, sir?”

Mr. Lupin rolls his eyes, also affectionately. He doesn’t comment on the formal address, this time. Instead he clears his throat and says, “Just wanted to thank you for being here the past few weeks. Don’t mean to put you on the spot, but Remus has told us a bit about your family, and I know the Potters are taking good care of you. But I hope you know that you are always welcome here, too. Remus…never had any brothers or sisters, and it’s been so nice for his mum and me to have some more young people around here. Even if you are all almost of age,” he adds with a smile.

“But between you and me, it’s certainly something for Remus, too. As I say, our families are small, and he didn’t have brothers or cousins when he was little. I can see he’s found that with you boys. And I dare say he’s a brother to the lot of you, as well.”

Mr. Lupin leaves off a little awkwardly, but Sirius doesn’t want to hear anything more, anyway. He finds a smile to put on his face and then some words to accompany it.

“I appreciate that, Mr. Lupin. Thank you for having me, really. Remus is—yeah, Remus _is_ important to me, ah, to us. And—yeah, thank you.”

He’s not proud, but Sirius turns tail and flees to the makeshift football pitch, unwilling at that moment to replay or examine Mr. Lupin’s words any more closely.

\---

That night, after James and Peter _have_ , in fact, kicked Remus and Sirius’ arses at football, they all trudge upstairs to get ready for bed, playing exploding snap in Remus’ bedroom while they wait their turns showering in the Lupins’ one small washroom. Sirius wins three hands, then calls next shower before he inevitably loses. When he gets out, Peter is waiting in the hall, and James has already retreated to the guest room to sleep.

Sirius came to the Lupins’ a couple weeks before the other two, since he didn’t want to intrude on the Potters’ family holiday, despite their insistence that he would be welcome, so he’s still in Remus’ room, where he’s been camped out all along. James and Peter are in the spare room, swapping between the bed and the squishy sleeping bag on the floor by some system that has to do with chocolate frog cards. (Sirius isn’t asking.)

When Sirius gets back to Remus’ room, he pulls on some pajamas and gives his hair one last rub with the towel, then hangs it up to dry. The room is dim, the only light coming from a lamp on the far side of Remus’ bed. It’s a full size bed, bigger than their four-posters at school, though not by much.

From the side of the bed near the lamp, Remus pulls the blankets back on the near side, and Sirius climbs in. Remus puts the light out without a word. In the dark, neither of them says anything, either. Instead, Remus scooches in toward the middle of the bed, and lays his head on Sirius’ chest, and Sirius tries not to be so tense.

The first couple nights Sirius was here, he insisted on using a sleeping bag, in spite of the empty spare room and Remus’ protests that they could at least switch off sleeping in his own bed. Somehow the fact that Sirius was the guest was an argument in favor of both Remus keeping the bed and him giving it to Sirius. By the fourth night, Remus just quietly told Sirius to shut up and sleep on the other side of the bed, as long as he wouldn’t kick.

Turns out, kicking wasn’t the problem. Cuddling was the problem. Sirius has always been a tactile guy, and his friends never objected to him hugging them, or tousling their hair after a good prank, or dramatically throwing his arms around them to make a point. But cuddling is different, and after the first morning where Sirius woke up with his head on Remus’ chest and Remus’ arm along his back, they’ve just…let it happen, without comment.

Sometimes at night they’ll lie like that and talk about other things, like school or quidditch or the book Remus is making them read for the next year’s edition of their no-longer-long-distance two-man book club. Sometimes they won’t talk at all. Never do they talk about the cuddling thing. It doesn’t matter; it’s always felt easy and acceptable.

Tonight, it doesn’t feel that way. Remus’ dad said “brothers”, and brothers don’t do this once they’re old enough to read. Sirius breathes out, slowly but not all that shakily. He should say something. There are words on the tip of his tongue, but not being sure what they are, he doesn’t let them out.

A few breaths later, Remus’ lips press against Sirius’ cheek, and Remus’ voice whispers, “It’s alright, Pads.”

It shouldn’t be so completely relieving to hear that. Remus doesn’t know what Sirius is worried about. Hell, _Sirius_ doesn’t know what Sirius is worried about. (That’s a lie. Sirius knows; he just doesn’t want to.)

It shouldn’t be so completely relieving to feel Remus’ lips on his skin and hear them say those words. But it is.

Sirius swallows those words off his tongue, saves them for another time. Heart hammering in his chest, he maneuvers himself to press his own lips to Remus’ cheek. Then Remus turns his head, and rough cheek stubble becomes a smooth warm mouth, and this is—a lot. A year and change since he sat there worried he’d lose Remus forever to the summer holiday, and it’s all been spinning toward this.

After a long moment, during which the house could have collapsed and Sirius isn’t sure he would have noticed, Remus pulls back.

“It’s alright, Pads,” he says again. “Whatever you want, it’s alright.”

Sirius blinks, and breathes. _This_ is what he wants. He’s never felt anything like James seems to feel about Lily; he still doesn’t. He still doesn’t know, either, what it is he _does_ feel, except the rightness of this, right now.

==== 

With the return to school comes a return to comparatively small beds and a comparatively larger bedroom, complete with friends. In the last week of summer, Sirius had returned with James to the Potters’, and everything was fine. The first few days of school are fine, too, with everyone getting accustomed to their new schedules and actually having to care what day of the week it is again.

But it’s not even a week in before Sirius finds himself craving those night where he and Remus would fall asleep wrapped up together. It was so comforting and grounding to have another person—to have _Remus_ —there beside him those nights and those mornings. With small beds and nosy friends, though, Sirius just doesn’t know when they’ll get a chance to do that again. Which is a real shame.

Still, they spend nearly every day together, and no one thinks twice about Sirius loudly and dramatically putting his head in Remus’ lap on a common room couch and demanding that his hair be combed. There’s something to be said for building yourself a reputation for chaos that you can’t genuinely ever attain.

Remus sneaks his hand over to hold Sirius’ under the table sometimes at breakfast, and the lightning that zips up through Sirius’ stomach is equal parts anticipation and anxiety.

When James and Peter are still asleep the second Saturday morning of term, Sirius goes to brush his teeth and finds Remus in the washroom shaving. They share the sink in a moderately charged silence.

Sirius spits and rinses his mouth. Remus runs a washcloth over his face to remove the last of the shaving cream. Sirius takes a deep breath, catches Remus’ eye, and for the first time since he left the Lupins’ house, they lean in and their lips meet.

That lightning feeling Sirius is almost used to by now escalates to thrill and terror. Remus reaches for Sirius’ hand and gives it a tight but gentle squeeze.

“Morning, Pads,” he whispers against Sirius’ lips.

“Morning,” Sirius replies in a daze. Remus smells like shaving cream and tastes like a different toothpaste than Sirius used, and they need to talk about this. They haven’t—but Remus said “whatever you want” so it’s—but they need to talk about it.

He pulls back, then leans in again to kiss Remus’ smooth cheek, lingering only as long as he dares, which isn’t half as long as he’d like.

“Breakfast?” he asks, stepping back and letting go of Remus’ hand. Remus nods.

They need to talk about this, but. Later.

\---

The next day all four Marauders have a nice lie-in after staying up far too late watching Wimbourne eke out a win over the Cannons on a portrait of the team enchanted to show their quidditch matches in real time. They eat late in their pajamas, and James doesn’t even worry too much about Lily seeing him so disheveled.

He is the first to return to Gryffindor tower, though, because he has to look more official for a prefects’ meeting he’s meant to lead. When the rest of them get up there, James is on his way back out the portrait hole, having somehow managed to tame his hair and put on real clothes. Peter reluctantly does the same before taking off to work on his herbology presentation with the rest of his group. (Sirius is not looking forward to doing his, but his group drew a presentation date in December, so he’s got a bit of time yet to worry about that.)

Sirius is standing in front of his trunk, debating putting on real clothes himself (pros: less likely to accidentally fall back asleep; cons: way too fucking lazy), when Remus interrupts him by slipping his arms around Sirius’ waist and pressing his lips to Sirius’ neck, right on the collar of his shirt. Sirius stiffens, a combination of surprise, ticklishness, and anxiety lighting up his nerves.

“Hi,” Remus whispers into the skin there.

“Hi,” Sirius tries to whisper back. The words catch in his throat, and he has to cough before he can manage it. “I was—going to get dressed?” Suddenly Sirius is very conscious of the way they are touching and the lack of clothing and—yeah.

Remus lets go of him and takes a step away. “Okay?” he says. Asks. He looks concerned when Sirius turns around. Fuck, yeah, they really need to talk about this.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises, then in a heartbeat brushes a kiss of his own across Remus’ cheek before grabbing the first clothes he sees and disappearing into the washroom.

He changes quickly and splashes some water on his face, both to help himself calm down and to make it look like there was a real reason he needed to be in there. He’s not normally shy about changing in their dormitory or in the quidditch changing rooms, but this—this feels different. They need to talk about this, but Sirius needs to not be disrobing in that context.

When he comes back into the room, Remus is sitting on his bed, also dressed, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. His head is resting on his knees, facing away from Sirius, but he turns to lay it the other direction when he hears Sirius open the door.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” he says immediately. “I didn’t—”

“It’s alright.” Sirius interrupts him, walking around Remus’ bed to squeeze in beside him. He leans against Remus with some force, just enough to say I’m here, it’s alright, I’m not mad. “Let’s talk, though.”

Remus doesn’t respond verbally, but he does lean back, letting his shoulder and knee tell Sirius’ shoulder and knee that he’s listening.

“Can we…?” Sirius asks, sliding down the bed until he’s horizontal. Remus follows suit, and these beds are narrower than Remus’ bed at home, but in this case that’s all the better, actually. Sirius is…not all that confident that he will be able to say what he wants to with words right now, but he can absolutely pull Remus’ head back down to his chest, kiss the top of it, and make sure that his actions are as honest as possible.

“Your hair smells good,” Sirius says, taking a deep breath and trying to decide what else to say.

Remus chuckles quietly against him. “Thanks? I haven’t washed it in days.” His right hand is pinned between them on the bed, but his left hand hovers awkwardly in the air, not sure where to set down. Sirius takes it, folds his own fingers into the empty spaces where they belong, and rests their joined hands on his ribs.

The tension is broken, to a degree, but it’s only the beginning. Remus said “whatever you want”, and Sirius only barely knows what he wants—certainly doesn’t know what _Remus_ actually wants—so…

“The kissing thing was okay, right?” Remus asks. His voice is soft, nervous. It occurs to Sirius that this position is optimal, not only because it’s comfortable and affectionate and shows Remus that he considers this significant, but also because they don’t have to look each other in the eye right now.

But—“Yeah, the kissing thing was great— _is_ great. Yeah.” Sirius punctuates this eloquent statement with another smack of his lips in Remus’ hair.

“Good,” says Remus.

They lie like that for forty-two thumps of Sirius’ heart; in the silence, his brain can’t help but count them. Then Remus lifts his head and says, “Can I…?” and Sirius’ mouth answers not with words but in a more pleasant way altogether.

They lie like _that_ for more than forty-two heartbeats, but Sirius doesn’t know how many. He has better things to do than count them, this time, like taste Remus’ tongue and feel the edges of his teeth. He regrets Remus untangling their fingers until Remus takes that free hand and slides it into Sirius’ hair, and he’s done that before but it never stops being wonderful.

Remus pulls his mouth off of Sirius’, and it’s too bad that they do need to breathe. But before Sirius has caught his breath, Remus is licking and sucking and nipping down his throat, and that’s—that’s a lot, that’s too much, that is not so wonderful. They need to talk about this.

Sirius taps Remus’ back. “Wait. Stop, please.”

Remus stops. He looks up at Sirius, his concerned expression from before back in place.

“Just—” Sirius says, before Remus can apologize for something he didn’t—doesn’t—even know about. “Wait. Let’s talk, okay? But that was—I missed touching you like this.”

Remus ducks his head. “Me too.”

He’s not counting now, but Sirius can feel his heart pounding. He has to say something.

The door opens.

James catches sight of them instantly, then seems caught, unsure whether to walk straight back out or slam the door closed behind him. His hand reflexively comes up to run through his hair.

“Ah,” he says intelligently.

By then Remus is already sitting up, and Sirius sits up, too, so that they can all see each other.

“I’ll just…” James turns toward the door, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“No, wait,” says Remus. James looks back. “You can’t tell anyone. Is this going to be a problem for you?”

“What, not telling anyone, or you two being secret…boyfriends, or whatever? Cos no, it’s not, but I would like to talk to you about it when you’re not, er, occupied. Thought that might be the sort of thing you let me in on. Er, I mean, not let me in on, but told me about. Er, no, shite, I mean, informed me of.”

James’ face is bright red, but Sirius can’t even laugh, because his stomach feels like a giant pile of cold noodles.

“We’re not,” he manages to say, staring at the quilt on Remus’ bed. He feels Remus turn around to look at him, but he keeps his eyes down. He’s a coward.

“Well, we didn’t mean to be _secret_ ,” Remus says slowly. “I mean, not from you, Prongs. It’s just—new.”

Sirius clenches one hand into a fist. He tries (and fails) not to let his voice break when he says again, “But we’re not.”

James and Remus both inhale sharply, and James says, “Merlin, fucking hell. That sounds like my cue to get out of here and let you two sort your shit out. And you’d _better_ sort it out, yeah? Cos you’re not allowed to break each other’s hearts, alright?”

Sirius risks a glance past Remus over to James, and James looks like someone just fried his owl up like fish and chips. “Talk to each other, okay?” he says. “I’ll…be downstairs, and I’ll intercept Wormtail if he gets back before you’re sorted.”

And with that, he walks right out and firmly but quietly latches the door behind him.

“Sirius,” Remus starts. “I can’t—”

“No, I know,” says Sirius, attempting to get his voice and this situation under control. “Let me—”

“No,” Remus insists. “Let _me_ say something, instead of cutting me off.”

Sirius does. He didn’t mean to be cutting Remus off so much. Has he been doing that? Shite.

Remus lies down again, on his back. Sirius doesn’t.

“I can’t do casual, Sirius,” he says. “I can’t…settle. I know I’m going to have a hard time finding anyone, given my furry little problem, but I can’t just…be a casual shag or anything. Especially not with you, Sirius, I—you’re too important.”

Important is good. Not shagging is good, probably. Sirius takes a breath.

“Right. Same. I mean, sort of. I’m not—it’s not casual, either, for me. But…‘boyfriends’ doesn’t feel right. I don’t—I like kissing you, and I like cuddling with you, and I like when you hold my hand, and I liked when we could fall asleep and wake up together. But I don’t—feel. I don’t feel like how James talks about Lily, or Pete talks about Martha, or Jennifer talked about dreamy, handsome David in that book you gave me this summer.”

He pauses only long enough to draw breath. “I know you said that book was over the top, but I don’t feel a fraction of that. And the kissing and cuddling and all is so nice, but more than that, more…sexy…than that—it doesn’t…appeal to me? I don’t know why. I don’t know. I didn’t mind reading it, but the idea of _me_ being involved is not fun. So…”

He stops, finally, unsure what else to say. Remus’ quilt hasn’t really changed. Then he realizes something.

“I’m sorry. Remus, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you keep kissing me and things, I just. You said—it’s not your fault, I didn’t understand, but—you said ‘whatever you want, Pads’, and I just. Wanted this. The kissing and cuddling and being…not-boyfriends, I guess. It wasn’t fair of me; I should have realized what you would think—”

He stops again, this time caught off guard. Remus has sat up and pulled Sirius into him, guiding Sirius’ head down to his chest with one hand, the other wrapped around Sirius waist. He buries his face in Sirius’ uncombed hair and kisses it.

“Whatever you want, Pads,” he murmurs. Sirius hears it through his skull as much as through the air, and when did he start crying?

“I should have said in the summer nothing casual, but it didn’t feel casual, did it? It felt so right, I didn’t question it. Because it was right. It is right. You don’t—you’re my best friend, Sirius. And as long as we’re going forward from that together, as long as you’re serious—”

“I’m always—”

“Shut up!” Remus says, but he’s smiling. “As long as we’re both committed to letting this happen and sticking with it long-term… I’m in. Not-boyfriends it is.”

Sirius sniffs and wipes his eyes. “Are you sure? I know it took me some time to ask you to talk about this, and it didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped, but—don’t you feel all those other things? Don’t you want them?”

Remus pulls him even closer, somehow. “I want you, Pads.”

Okay. Sirius can work with that.

==== 

Exams are less than a month away, and graduation hot on their heels. Sirius is at once _beyond ready_ to get out there and start his auror training and fight these Death Eaters and stop doing bloody homework all the time, but also _not at all_ ready to leave the walls of this castle, his home away from no-longer-his-home, and be on his own.

Well, not completely on his own. He will have Remus with him, of course, and Peter and the Potters just a floo call away. (The _Potters_ , plural, because James and Lily are going to get hitched right after school, and Sirius could not be more delighted for them.)

Peter’s thing with Martha fizzled out in October after it had survived most of sixth year and the whole summer, but this Ravenclaw sixth-year, Tricia, has stuck around with him most of the rest of the year. Personally, Sirius doesn’t see it lasting long once Pete graduates, but what does Sirius know? He’s never been anyone’s boyfriend.

The six of them are sitting around in the Great Hall after breakfast on a rainy Saturday, looking (metaphorically) for the motivation to do their homework and revision. It doesn’t seem like it’s anywhere to be found. Lily has braided, unbraided, and rebraided her hair at least twice, and she’s eyeing Sirius right now like she’d like to have a go at _his_ hair.

“Alright, Lils,” he says, shaking his head like Padfoot to get her attention. “Do your worst. But only if you talk about what’s got you so nervous.”

“Oh.” She lets the elastic snap around the bottom of her braid, and she pops the knuckles on her hands. “It’s nothing. It’s just. The wedding’s a lot, but we’re doing it small, of course, and James’ mum is doing so much of the work, so I really shouldn’t complain…”

“And yet, here we are,” says Tricia with a smile.

James puts a hand on her back. “Talk, love. Maybe this lot will have something more useful to say than I have.”

Lily laughs drily, taking Sirius’ hair in her hands and separating it into thirds at the top. “The wedding is mostly out of our hands, at this point, but we’re looking for a place to live, too, and the realtors are all so distrustful since we’re still in school and I’m muggleborn. The place we found in Godric’s Hollow—remember we had that floo visit last week? She said they’d get back to us by now, but we haven’t heard anything.”

She works her way down Sirius’ head as she talks, adding to each strand as she goes. He probably won’t keep the braid in very long—he doesn’t like the way he looks with the hair so far back from his ears—but the process feels nice, and he likes that he can give her this when she’s stressed.

“What about you lot?” she asks then. “Have you found places yet?”

Peter shrugs. “I’ll be back with my family for a while at least. Save on rent and give my mum a hand with my cousins running around while I look for a job.”

Sirius had offered to have Pete live with him and Remus, not worried about the rent, but Pete declined. Hard to tell how much of it was pride, how much was about his mum, and how much was thinking he would somehow be in the way. They assured him he wouldn’t be, but Sirius suspects Peter would have felt out of place without James there, too, no matter what they did.

“There’s a little place in Aberdeen that Sirius found,” Remus says, when it’s clear Peter isn’t going to say anything more. “We’ll get floo hooked up and be anywhere we want, but it’s a nice neighborhood, and his family don’t like Scotland much, so they probably won’t bother us. And they’ve got a wizarding library-cum-research-center I’ve applied to work at, so hopefully that will work out. But I’m nervous about that, too.”

Lily hums in understanding. Tricia doesn’t know about Moony, but Lily does. She helps Sirius look after him, sometimes, and helps Sirius look after himself, too, when he needs it. Lily’s a good sort. Sirius is glad James got himself together.

“It’ll be nice to have Sirius around, though, won’t it?” she says, twisting an elastic around the bottom of his braid. “Built-in roommate?”

Remus flashes her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes entirely. Sirius keeps his own expression neutral, glad that Lily is standing behind him. They’ve kept it quiet, mostly; she knows they’re close and they’re not boyfriends. She doesn’t usually understand that they’re Not-Boyfriends. And they don’t talk about any of it or do anything in front of Tricia. (Pete understands. He knows it took them most of the year to bring it up with Lils. Tricia’s too new.)

Sirius thunks his head back against Lily’s…stomach, or whatever part of her is on level with his head, where she’s standing behind him.

“Remus can’t get rid of me that easy.”

==== 

Their place in Aberdeen is small, and two stories up. The windows neither open all the way nor close all the way. The timer on the stove shrieks “God Save the Queen” instead of buzzing, and there is a very chatty painting of a cartoon dragon adhered to the inside of the washroom door with a permanent sticking charm.

Their place in Aberdeen is home.

Remus works most days at the research center up the street, then stops by the shops for groceries or takeaway on his way home, depending on whether he feels like cooking. Every weekend he makes chocolate chip muffins and leaves half a dozen of them downstairs for the landlord, who in turn asks no questions about why Remus is living in an apartment leased only to Sirius Black.

Sirius floos into London most days to train at the Auror academy. He and James are working their arses off, but they enjoy it. He brings James home with him at least once a week, so that the three of them can harass Peter into taking a night off from his family and they can all watch a quidditch match together.

At least one other night a week, he only sticks his head through the fire place far enough to shout to Remus that Lily’s expecting them and they mustn’t keep the lady waiting. Then he follows James home, and Remus floos directly to Godric’s Hollow and meets them there.

It’s a good life. They’re all worried as hell about the Death Eaters and the war that’s probably coming down on them, but they’re doing what they can, and trying to make the most of the rest. James and Lily have been talking about kids, maybe, and Sirius is so excited for them. They’re going to be the best fucking parents around.

Most nights, though, Sirius and Remus end up in their own flat, by themselves. They eat supper, they read to each other, they talk about the chaos of their days. (Sirius is always amazed and slightly impressed at the amount of crap that can happen in a research center, to be honest.)

When they’re lucky, Remus’ work schedule and Sirius’ training schedule align, and they get a whole day to go explore Aberdeen, or (more likely) explore the glory of sleeping past 6am.

When they’re unlucky, Remus works overnight on time-sensitive projects or Sirius goes on field assignment for days at a time. They make do.

In August, Sirius and James are both on assignment the night of the full, and they’re both antsy. Remus went back to Hogsmeade that morning, having arranged with Dumbledore before graduation to continue using the Shrieking Shack. (Unbeknownst to Dumbledore, though, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs usually go with him.) Peter will hopefully be joining him, but Wormtail is only so much help on his own.

Upon Sirius’ return home a few days later, Remus is not there. Sirius steps out of the floo and finds a note saying Remus is back to work, but he’ll bring curry home for supper if Sirius sends him a message at the library to say he’s back. He does this, and also sends James and Peter a message reporting that Remus seems to be fine, before he collapses into bed and falls asleep.

He wakes that evening to Remus climbing into bed with him and draping himself over Sirius’ chest.

“I missed you,” Remus says.

“I missed you, too,” Sirius replies. “Come here.”

Remus props himself up, smiling, and they both lean in to welcome each other home with a kiss.

“Vindaloo’s gonna get cold,” Remus warns.

Sirius tugs Remus back down onto his chest. “That’s what warming charms are for. Stay here.”


End file.
